One Minor Detail
by Annie D
Summary: In an alternate universe where there is only minor difference, the vice-captain of Shohoku wonders how it all went wrong.


**Fandom**: Slam Dunk   
**Warnings**: Erm. None?   
**Rating**: G   
**Disclaimer**: Slam Dunk are owned by various persons, none of whom are me. Aww, shucks.   
**Notes**: Alternate universe. Trousers of Time. Chain reactions. One person made a different decision.   
**Dedicated to**: Panadol Flu & Cold, which numbed the funny-n-fluffy part of me long enough to write something not soaked in sugar.   


**One Minor Detail**

by Annie D   
the_80s_chick@lycos.com 

  
  
  


Do you sometimes think about what could have been? I'm sure you do. I'm sure you've wondered, more than once in your life, about how things would have turned out if one minor detail were different. I've wondered about that sort of thing myself, although I know that by all practicality such pondering is useless. What we have is the here, and the now. We cope or we don't. 

And yet as I walk along right now, I cannot shake off this strange prickling feeling at the back of my neck. It's kind of like I'm standing on the brink of something unnameable, looking around into the awesome vast of the future and the past. A moment of silent balance where could-have-been feels distinctly like the _should_-have-been. 

Akagi is staring straight ahead, his jaw set firmly the way it always does when he's not in the mood to talk yet. Ayako is carefully shadowing Akagi at his side, constantly aware of the captain's mood. Miyagi is walking with his face firmly set to the side, as though he has better things to do than watch where he's going. Rukawa is not too far behind them, hands shoved his pockets and looking convincingly like he doesn't care about what has just happened. 

The others are trailing quietly behind, the silence doing more to admit their thoughts that they'd have liked. 

Me? I'm watching. Watching them, watching the other students watch us enter the school compound, watching as the whispers start, watching as pitying looks are passed between them. 

It wasn't supposed to have been like this. We are the best Shohoku team ever assembled, possibly the best that will ever _be _assembled. We did well, I know. A few months ago we never would have even dared to dream of being able to go up against Shoyo, but… Call me greedy if you will, but I really wanted to win. I wanted to be able to shout in victory, to be able to stand confident and proud above my players, to be able to have something great_er_ accomplished. 

The fault is not in our current members. I cannot blame anyone because we all played the best we could today. I'm not just saying that, because it _is _true. Akagi, Rukawa, Miyagi, Shiozaki, Yasuda, myself… My god, we played _our hearts out_. And there were times I swear I could feel my blood screaming: _We're going to win. We are. We were *meant* to win._

I had believed it. Believed it so strongly that when the final buzzer hit my ears, all I could do was stare. I felt all numb and empty inside for a few seconds before something suddenly curled in pit of stomach, something that screamed in defiance of what had just happened. 

_We were supposed to win. _I know that as certainly as I know that we didn't. For some reason, our best was just not good enough. 

Anzai-sensei is saying something to Akagi now, but I'm too far away to hear. I'm not sure I want to hear, because I'm afraid that if I do, the reality of it will finally hit me. That we… _lost._

It's just not possible. And don't say I'm in denial, because I'm never like this. I'm the practical one of the team, the level-headed vice-captain who can always be counted on to think levelly in times of crisis. I accept what happens, learn from it and move on. If not, how could I have survived years of losing? I believed that Akagi and I would pick up the team, even if it took years, which it did. _This _was supposed to be _it_. I know it. 

So what went wrong? 

I frown as I think. There was no flaw in our playing. Everyone put their heart and soul into it, as I'd always envisioned we would and as I'd believed full-heartedly would have been good enough. But… 

Akagi turns and mumbles something to Ayako, who turns and claps her hands to get the rest of the team's attention. She orders them to follow her to the gym, although personally I don't see the point. Perhaps to give us a moment to adjust to what has just happened before we're thrown into the sympathy pit of the rest of the school. Have I mentioned I hate that sort of sympathy? No? Well, I do. The other students have _no idea _what it took for us to get where we are, so they have no right to claim 'understanding'. 

Well, whatever. I follow Akagi instead, doing my duty as the loyal vice-captain. Akagi doesn't acknowledge my presence as I follow him into the school building, but he knows I'm there. I think he's wondering why I haven't broken down yet. Perhaps he wants to have a talk with me, especially after that stunned-silence-bordering-on-brain-dead act I had on earlier. 

He does eventually turn to me in the hallway, but his eyes cannot meet mine. "I'm sorry, Kogure. I promised to lead the team to nationals by the time we reached our final year, but I couldn't." 

I stare at him. "You haven't failed, Akagi. I'm not disappointed in you as a captain." 

He looks at me in surprise. I know he's stunned by the detached, emotionless tone of my voice. It's not that I'm in denial, or I'm in shock. It's just that I cannot find myself to be upset that we lost. Which isn't typical me-behaviour, considering I've bawled my eyes out the last few years every time we did lose, but I cannot explain it. I'm not upset, I'm confused. I wonder if perhaps I'll break down later. 

"Okay," he says slowly. "I'm going to make a call." He doesn't offer, but I follow him anyway. I think it's more for his comfort than for mine. 

We walk down the hallway, Akagi pointedly ignoring the pitying looks the other students give us. But they say nothing, because they know well enough not to risk Akagi's wrath at the moment. 

Actually, the pitying looks are all aimed at Akagi. The looks aimed at me are… surprised. And confused. Mirroring my own confusion, actually. 

Suddenly my eyes dart to the side, immediately interlocking with another heated pair of eyes. It's Mitsui, leaning lazily against a wall without his usual entourage, and he's watching me through the inky locks of his long hair. He looks… I don't really know how to describe it. I think it wouldn't be too much to say it's a gaze of gentle marvelling. I think it's due to my apparent professionalism over the fact that we lost, although I cannot be sure. 

Now his eyes melt. I expect pity to appear within them, but it's not. It's… oh goodness me, it's _regret_. Mitsui regrets. His eyes dart to Akagi, then back to me. I cannot assume what it is he's trying to say, because he's made it perfectly clear over the past two years how much he doesn't want to return to the team and how much he doesn't want to talk to me ever again, so I pull my eyes away from his and walk on. 

Akagi marches to phone and quietly picks up the receiver. I stand by, uncertain of what I should be doing, but certain that I cannot leave the captain just yet. 

His voice breaks as whoever it is on the other side answers his call. "Haruko?" 

Oh, he's calling his sister. I draw my lips together, trying not to notice the almost pained hushed tone he adopts as he forces himself to tell his little sister that we lost. I don't know Haruko that well, but I do know she's as crazy about basketball as her brother, which is why she went to Josei High to join their girl's basketball team instead of coming to Shohoku, because we don't have a girl's team. 

Haruko doesn't particularly stand out in my memory, but that prickling at the back of my neck hints something almost as though the insignificance she is shouldn't be so. I cast a glance at Akagi, who is nodding at something comforting Haruko is saying. I frown slightly. Haruko should have gone to game. She should have been at all of our games, instead of attending her own school's. She should be _here_. I don't know why I'm angry, but I am. 

I look up again to see a bunch of freshmen strolling past us. Four of them pass over my vision without me giving them a second glance, but the fifth… 

I've seen him around on campus occasionally, although it's hard not to notice him with that shocking red hair of his. It juts out from his head and curls almost long enough to fall in front of his eyes, but he doesn't seem to notice. Miyagi had mentioned coming to blows with him once, but a stern talk from Ayako had ensured that it wouldn't happen again. 

He looks at me, and I jump slightly. I don't know his name, and I seriously doubt he even knows that Akagi and I exist. Yet somehow, here he is, looking directly at me. His eyes are deep brown, and there is an almost-frown sketched across the brow. He has stopped walking, and his friends and trailing off without him, but he doesn't notice. His eyes move to Akagi, then to me, the almost-frown constant as he does so. There seems to be a question rumbling around just behind his lips, but he can't seem to put it into proper words. 

He's tall. He has large hands, long limbs that look loose and confident, and a strong build from the neck downward. I never noticed such details before, but suddenly they seem important. 

A thought arrives in my head. _He would've made a great basketball player._

Suddenly the red-head shrugs, breaking eye-contact with me and trudging off after his friends. I watch him leave, feeling the strange weight of disappointment in my stomach. 

"I'm going to be sick," I whisper. 

Akagi hangs up the phone, and then looks at me. "Did you say something, Kogure?" 

I shake my head quickly. "I'm fine. We better go. You need to talk to the team." 

Akagi nods solemnly, and I follow him silently back down the corridor to the gym. The churning in my belly is worsening as the infinite wrongness creeps under my skin like a rash. I haven't a clue how to stop it, and when I swallow slowly, my saliva tastes like bile. 

I cannot shake the feeling that things should've been different. Not could've, but _should've_. Perhaps… Perhaps this'll all make sense in tomorrow. After I've had some time to think about it, to think about what happened and why it's causing me to be more confused rather than upset. Yes, I'm sure it'll all make sense by tomorrow. It has to.   


FIN 


End file.
